Ohne Dich
by Drachenfliege
Summary: Harry reflects on what is left now that Voldemort is vanquished. And how he can go on without you..


Title: Ohne Dich (without you)

Pairing: Snarry

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama

Warning: Character Death, mentions of suicide, post-war

Disclaimer: I own neither the harry potter world nor the song "Ohne Dich"

Note: It's a german song so I wrote the translation (my own) beneath so you'll understand! The song sounds better in german ; You can listen to it on myspace music. It's from "Letzte Instanz"

* * *

Kein Licht, Dein Schatten scheint noch da,  
Die Wärme kann ich spür'n.

(No light, you shadow seems to be there. I can feel the warmth)

* * *

It's been three years now since that fateful night, when everything had come to an end and the world began to breathe easy again.

Three years… today being the anniversary. Everybody would be celebrating by now. Several Owls had once again been sighted by the muggles but like before none of the wizards cared.

And even though he had received so many invitations he could barely count, he was standing here…

In front of the grey tombstone, long forgotten and never visited by anyone, except him.

The sun was setting, the shadows were getting longer and the darkness crept in.

And when he just closed his eyes for a while and focused hard enough he always seemed to see 'his' shadow. Standing close to him, barely touching him.

It was then that he once again felt the heat of 'his' body seeping through his clothes warming him like only he could. Making his insides tingle and his heart feel whole again.

It was then that his breath hitched and he felt the familiar sting of tears behind his eyelids and he knew that he soon had to open his eyes, that this moment was only fleeting.

Like it was now.

He slowly opened his eyes and the magic was lost. A cold wind came up, making him shiver and tighten the folds of his coat as he stared at the letters engraved in stone.

* * *

Schon ewig fern und doch so nah.  
Verwelkte Rosen blüh'n  
in Gedanken noch mal auf,  
schweben zu Dir hinauf.

(So far away and yet so close. In my thoughts withered roses bloom once again, float up to you)

* * *

The roses he had brought along the last time had already withered. Lying there dry and dark and reminding him of how he felt nowadays. Old and dried out despite his young age. 'He' had always said that he seemed older than he looked and it was true. He never really had been a child and even though the thought had always saddened him he 'then' felt happy. Because he knew it had been one of the reasons the whole relationship (he remembered how 'he' had always hated the use of this word) had stood a chance.

He lightly touched the flowers, his fingertips barley brushing the once so soft petals.

And he imagined how they would start to bloom once again, and how somewhere, somehow you would see it happening.

You wouldn't be smiling, but there would be that twitch of your lips only those who knew to look for it could see. And that would be enough…

* * *

Ich weiß nicht wie es weitergeht,  
wohin es geht, warum es geht.  
Doch geht es leider  
wo ich steh, wohin ich seh,  
Bist einfach Du und es geht leider weiter.  
Immer weiter, ohne Dich.

(I don't know how it goes on, where it goes, how it goes. but it has to. Where I stand, where I go you're there, and it has to go on. On and on without you)

* * *

He took a shuddering breath. His throat constricting at the thought of 'his' face. It was becoming more and more hazy as he tried to remember it. Only in his dreams he could see 'him' the way he had been.

It was the reason that he slept more and more these days, that he always would start to cry as soon as he woke up. Trying desperately to hold onto those memories but never succeeding.

It was the reason that Ron and Hermione never left him alone these days after they had found him a year ago overdosed on sleeping-pills.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, trying desperately to hold back his tears. It seemed the only thing he was doing; he had been doing the last few years… Sleeping and crying… and then feeling ashamed of it. 'He' had always said 'he' hated it when he cried. That it was a childish and gryffingdorish way of whining over trivial things.

But he couldn't help himself. It seemed as if the tears would never stop. And he just didn't know what do these days.

He had once tried to start working as the new DADA teacher at McGonnagals request but couldn't even keep it up for a week. Everywhere he went, everywhere he looked 'his' shadow seemed to be, a whisper of his voice, or a breeze of his scent… Sandalwood and the distinct smell of fire…

After that fateful night he had started to put Sandalwood everywhere in his house and had a fire burning the whole day even in summer. But he never got it right… It never was 'his' scent he created and the knowledge of it had started to drive him to the brink of insanity, burning his house to the ground and screaming 'his' name.

It had been Hermione who had found him that evening. Lying nearly naked on the lawn in front of the ashes that once had been his... not a home... Clad only in 'his' coat and all the while whispering 'his' name. He knew that it must have broken her heart to see him this way, but he couldn't get himself to care anymore.

She told him that he needed to go on. That he must not forget but treasure the memories. That 'he' would not have wanted this life for him.

He knew that she was right. But everywhere he stood, everywhere he went he would always see 'his' shadow… How could he move on?

* * *

Im Grau, der Summe aller Farben  
stachst Du einfach heraus.  
Für Dich, für mich, für uns  
war doch das Licht nie aus!  
Ich wollt, ich könnt Dich noch mal seh'n -  
Dir sagen, wie sehr Du mir fehlst!

(In grey, the sum of all colours, you stood out. For you, for me, for us the light never dimmed. I wish I could see you again to tell you how much I miss you)

* * *

When people were asked to remember 'him' all they remembered was a face in the crowd. Just another person in the grey that were the fallen of the battle.

But when he remembered 'him' it was different. Every person that had participated in the war that had raged for so many years had either been good or evil, black or white, but he… he had always been both… Always manipulating… And he remembered that this was the reason he had felt drawn to him.

He remembered the days before the battle… the days when everybody had been filled with fear and the darkness had been all-encompassing. It was in these days that they had lain together… embracing… merging… creating their own light…

He felt his nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. He wished, oh how he wished he could see him again… Just to tell him how much he missed him…

The thought was driving him wild… had been for the last few years. The first months after the final battle he had been declared dead as no one could find him. And when they finally did he was so close to death that they had almost lost hope.

It was Hagrid who had seen him lying on the hard ground of the forbidden forest, barely skin and bones taking stone after stone into his hand and hoping it was the resurrection stone… but it never was.

They had made him take an unbreakable-vow as to not go looking for it anymore and he had hated them for it… until his hate was swallowed up by his mourning again.

* * *

Ich weiß nicht wie es weitergeht,  
wohin es geht, warum es geht.  
Doch geht es leider  
wo ich steh, wohin ich seh,  
Bist einfach Du und es geht leider weiter.  
Immer weiter, ohne Dich.

Ich bin allein und bin's doch nicht.  
Du bist da!  
Ich fühle Dich, Du lebst für mich  
so ewig fern und doch so nah.

(I'm alone and yet am not, You're there! I feel you, you live for me so far away and yet so close!)

* * *

He barely could make out the outline of 'his' grave now as the night hat finally arrived with full force. He knew his time was running short, Ron and Hermione would be coming soon, too scared that he would have finally found a way out of his… life… even though they had taken his wand and any remotely sharp objects from him.

He knelt down in front of 'his' grave, the coldness of the wet soil seeping through his trousers and slowly making his knees go numb. He softly, gently placed both of his hands against the cold and rough stone in front of him and closed his eyes.

Like before he felt a warmth that wasn't his own behind him, the scent of sandalwood and fire filled his nostrils. "…are you crying again brat..." a soft whisper right beside his ear. He smiled… the feeling so foreign, reminding him of better days, long gone… "You know me… I never do as told…" His throat felt rough from misuse.

It were moments like these that made him go on for another year, waiting for the next anniversary to come when he had the chance to feel him so close again.. to hear him again…

"…see you next year… I love you…"

Eyes still closed his lips lightly touched the writing on the tombstone in front of him.

**In loving memory of Severus Snape**

**Because love conquers everything**

* * *

AN: Okay that's it. My first snarry fiction (if I remember correctly). Sooo did you like it? Don't expect anything new soon. I was feeling depressed and I can only write while feeling depressed. ; So yeah I know the Tombstone phrase is lame but I just couldn't come up with anything else…

Reviews are an author's favourit cookie!!


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